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Jaime Courtney

Just the everyday, average, time traveling assassin.

0 · 203 views · located in The City of West Anne

a character in “The Umbrella Academy: On Stranger Tides”, as played by Bartholomew Finch


♦ Jaime Courtney ♦ Damage Empowerment ♦ Twenty Six ♦
β€’ ♦ β€’ ♦ β€’ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ β€’ ♦ β€’ ♦ β€’

___ G E N D E R ___

___ S E X U A L I T Y ___

___ O R I G I N ___
Clanton, Alabama
___ D I S P O S I T I O N ___

Jaime isn't the most self aware person on planet earth. Almost awkward in a way until you get passed all the posturing and posing. His charm comes from a mixture of rambled anecdotes and a love for getting ass over heels drunk. Look, maybe he's got a bit of a problem with self control - its not like he had many positive role models in his life to show him the way. He was trained from practically birth to be a highly skilled time travelling assassin, that tends to fuck with a persons mental capacities quite a bit. It isn't that he lacks intelligence or anything. He's smart when he wants to be. Its just that he's so damn focused on one thing at a time that he tends to overlook the big picture.

Besides that, being raised in the Commission has given him a sort of 'follow the leader' attitude, and therefore he is always looking to please the authoritative figure in the room. Literally and figuratively. He may not be the biggest fan of the handler but the Commission as a whole has his loyalties.

Morally Ambiguous with a side of fucked up ethics. Its clear that he doesn't usually have any qualms when it comes to killing. So long as its justified by his job of course. He's the kind of guy to focus in in his a job and get it done in the most efficient way possible. He will go after a target with everything he's got and then some. Not stopping until he's either completed the job or called off of it completely. Despite this love he has for his job he also has a way of sometimes feeling as if something is missing in his life. Like he's always running to play catch up with something that will forever be just out of his reach.

In a casual setting he can be quite talkative. Definitley not the silent type. He can get easily exasperated but its usually in a fond way where friends and certain bartenders are concerned.
Image___ A B I L I T I E S___
β€’ Damage Empowerment | Look, it isn't his fault that his ability is basically so low brow that he doesn't even realize it exists at all. He's a highly trained assassin working for a time travelling agency, spare him the raised eyebrows alright? So y'know, the whole 'the more damage I take, the stronger I get' thing not being exactly obvious is perfectly explainable! Plus, I mean, he's a bit of a dip shit at the best of times. Power =/= intelligence. Anyways, like it says on the tin, this ability allows him to basically get stronger the more injured he is in a fight. The only stipulation really being lethal damage - he isn't indestructible after all. Can't regrow limbs or heal himself rapidly. He retains all the damage he receives so he doesn't just shake it off or anything, he just gets physically stronger.

___ S T R E N G T H S ___
β€’ Hand To Hand Combat - Being that he has to undergo rigorous training in all forms of combat, it is to no surprise that Jaime is quite the master of Hand to Hand combat.
β€’ Long Range Weaponry - One of his preferred methods of carrying out a job is to employ long range tactics.
β€’ Lock picking - A skill he picked up more from his own insatiable curiosity rather than from the commission itself - though they did have some small part in it.

___ W E A K N E S S E S ___
β€’ Obliviousness - He can be a downright idiot when it really comes down to it. His lack of forsight often contributing to this. He generally lacks the ability to see things that are staring him right in the face.
β€’ Singular Focus - When he is on a job he tends to get locked into the moment. Almost dangerously so.
β€’ That Damn Bartender - This one is self explanatory, at least in Jaime's opinion.

___ F E A R S ___
β€’ Never Finding His Place In The World - Jaime has always felt as if he were missing something in his life. Like he wasn't meant to spend every waking moment working rather than living. He fears that he will never find his true place in this world. Forever stagnant.
β€’ Dying - This is a pretty general fear, he's young and somewhat dumb so he has a much higher chance of dying early than most. It is what it is.
β€’ Bridges Over Large Bodies Of Water - They should be illegal.
___ H I S T O R Y ___
Parents? What the hell are those. Jaime was raised by the Commission. Trained by them from childhood until he was old enough to actually join their ranks. From youth he learned all manner of things that children shouldn't normally be exposed to. Combat, Weaponry, How to kill a man with a shoelace. All that fun stuff and even more. He never had the desire to learn about his birth parents, they practically sold him off anyways so why would he? Anyways, he considers The Handler something of a pseudo-parent. She certainly took it upon herself to make sure he was properly indoctrinated after all.

What he doesn't know is that The Handler is the one that found him. For her he was meant to be something great. But for the most part, despite being one of the children born that day, he did not present any spectacular powers. She eventually labeled him a failure to her cause, simply treating him as any other normal agent. Which is essentially what he became. He takes his job rather seriously, though he tends to scrutinize what The Handler wants just a little more than others.

For the most part his young life has been rather...boring. In the way that it has become stagnant and boring. Being with the Commission is amazing, and time travel is the stuff of dreams but after a while anything can get to become too much. So Jaime's taken to venturing further away from the rules of the Commission. Spending his free time in a cop bar, and it's not just because of that Bartender (or so Jaime claims.)

β€’ ♦ β€’ ♦ β€’ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ β€’ ♦ β€’ ♦ β€’
#A2C692 ♦ Drew Roy ♦ Bartholomew Finch

So begins...

Jaime Courtney's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marco Costa Character Portrait: Jaime Courtney Character Portrait: Caesar
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Manicured nails tapped against a wooden desk as a blonde-haired woman gazed at the tall stack of papers before her. It seemed that rather than separate papers by person, whatever fool compiled this file found it more convenient to collate everything into a huge whopper that was barely sandwiched in a manila folder.

β€œHonestly, what am I paying these people for?!” She exclaimed before flicking one of the documents, β€œI asked for one person, just one, and instead I receive this.”

β€œSurely you can’t expect everyone to read your mind, especially with the mess you left us with,β€œ a muffled voice asked, leaning back in his chair.

β€œOh shut it AJ. You and I both know that I’m the one holding this place together,” she snapped, tucking back a curly lock, β€œI picked all of the new board members. I write all the checks, and I control the timeline.”

β€œβ€œCorrection. You have final say, but you know that the Board still expects certain things from you.”

The Handler shot him an icy glare.

β€œNonetheless”-AJ straightened his tie-β€œβ€we can both agree that this matter needs to be taken care of as soon as possible. We can’t have any rogue variables running around, not when last year’s meeting...”

He trailed off as the Handler lit another cigarette. She blew a thin stream of smoke towards the fish before leaning back in her leather chair.

"Lucky for you and the rest of the Commission I've assembled a team to take care of our runway."

Red lips parted as the Handler inhaled nicotine, relishing in one of the few pleasures that the 1950s could afford her. Though she had all the money in the world, the base simply wasn’t built to accommodate the luxuries that modern life offered. Whether it was wireless Internet, color television, or spaceships, the Temps Aeternalis’ only technological achievements were the briefcase and the pneumatic systems that allowed cross-temporal communication. As much as she tried, her smartphone was useless.

β€œ"And the prisoners?" he asked, a bubble escaping from his upturned mouth.

AJ was an anomaly even among the colorful cast of agents that the Commission employed. Though sapient animals weren’t unheard of, AJ was the first to be more than a workhorse and the first aquatic creature to be more than a lab experiment. His creator rigged a robotic body that not only sustained him but allowed him to communicate with others.

"Lila’s watching over them while analytics hashes out the details of their execution.”

If AJ could raise a brow he would have done so, but settled on rolling to his side.

β€œβ€œIs that such a wise idea? You know what’s at stake. If he-”

β€œIf he what?” The Handler stood, setting her cigarette holder in its golden stand.

She walked behind him, her free hand resting on his shoulder.

β€œYou remember who spared your life right? The one who transplanted you from that bag? I could have easily flushed you down the drain or swallowed you whole, yet out of the kindness of my heart I had our best mechanics repair your body and even reinstalled you as Vice Handler.”

Before he could open his mouth to speak, she circled back to her desk and pressed the intercom.

β€œHello Joshua? Please tell the Alpha team that I’m ready for them.”

She turned towards the Vice Handler and made a shooing motion before picking up her cigarette once more.

β€œI tire of your defiance AJ. Begone.”

Pneumatic tubes flew through the piping of the Commission headquarters, finding their way towards the inboxes of Caesar, Marco, and Jaime. Rather than the usual pleasantries the message read simply "Come to my office." The Handler initially set their appointment for two o'clock, but deadlines depended more on her mood than a number on a clock. Not to mention that time was relative.

She sat back in her chair, thinning the folder until only a few papers remained. With Hazel and Cha Cha gone, Caesar and Marco were the best agents in the operations and Jaime well...It wasn't like he had anything better to do. Unlike Lila, he offered nothing special and his lack of ambition left a bad taste in her mouth. Oh, why couldn't Caesar have been one of those special...children (was that what they were calling them?)? The loyalty combined with the potential for superpowers would have been exquisite.

"Ah miss, Alpha team is here." A perky voice boomed from the intercom.

The Handler smirked as the three agents entered the room.

β€œThank you for coming."

Her hands were steepled and her eyes entirely focused on her new team.

β€œGentlemen we have traitor on our hands,” she announced, sliding over a dossier with a picture clipped to the top, β€œdo you know this man?”


β€œHerb is-was-one of the operators of the Infinite Switchboard and one of our top analysts. Yesterday a briefcase was stolen and this man was nowhere to be found. I tried asking that Dot woman, but she's been playing dumb."

The Handler shook her head. β€œRegardless, I need the three of you to retrieve the case and stop whatever he’s planning."

Beneath the folder the coordinates were written clearly in black ink:

November 11, 2019
Anchor Academy, West Anne

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Camila Hargreeves Character Portrait: Lucien Hargreeves Character Portrait: Sven Hargreeves Character Portrait: Vya Hargreeves Character Portrait: Ronan Hargreeves Character Portrait: Jaime Courtney
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Vya wasn't one for sadness. It wasn't his shade, didn't fit him. Besides, he wasn't sure sad was what he was even feeling. Shocked, definitely. But 'sad' was pushing it a little. He really hadn't thought Reginald Hargreeves would ever do them the kindness of dying.

He'd crumpled his letter up and tossed it in the trash only to dig it out the next day and read it again, chewing on his fingernails and pacing the length of his apartment. His husky, Koda, had paced with him in a show of solidarity.

Two days later he'd texted Ronan a simple: you going? and gotten an even simpler yeh as a reply. Which had pretty much sealed the deal that Vya was going. For one, he wasn't going to make Ro face it alone, and for two, he couldn't face it without Ro, so there was that.

He wasn't sure if any of the others would. He and Ronan had been the last to leave, and the only ones to really claim Dear Ol' Dad (although he had a feeling they both did it because it made it easier to pull the 'abused kid' card but that was besides the point). ((Or maybe it was just because Ro got outed and Vya couldn't let his sib go down alone.))

Besides, who else was going to go home, confirm the bastards death, deal with the will and estate and anything else? Lucien was too busy being a goddam hermit (Vya had tried calling him - about 15 times if his phone history was to be believed.) Lucky would probably laugh in the face of anyone who suggested she handle it. And Sven- no. It was him, and Ronan. He'd shit his pants if anyone else showed.

He took a shot and threw the damn letter away again.

β€’ ♦ β€’ ♦ β€’

Vya was drunk before he boarded the plane. He ordered another drink once he got settled, and spent the flight from Cali to NY playing games with a toddler in the seat next to him. His very tired mother looked very appreciative and neither of them acknowledged the fact that she 'accidentally' drank his coffee and baileys before taking a nap.

He fucked around in town for a bit, he hadn't been back to West Anne since he'd left the academy. He sent a few touristy pictures to a contact in his phone labeled '*Bee Emoji* J' and picked up a mug for him in a novelty shop and spelled out 'UNT' next to the handle. He could get the same stupid shit back home but he was traveling which made it special.

When he couldn't ignore what he was there for anymore, Vya found himself crossing that fucking drawbridge. While his PTSD didn't have shit on his siblings, it still wasn't pleasant, and he found himself wishing he could have held Ronan's attention long enough to coordinate their arrivals.

Pogo was waiting for him. Great. Vya took a swing from his flask.

"Master Vya-"

"I know my way around, I'm okay," Vya interrupted, his tone not as harsh as his words. Pogo opened his mouth, perhaps to say more, but for some reason Vya just really, really didn't want to hear it. "I need to take a walk."

He stood there just long enough to see Pogo nod his head and place both hands on a cane that was supporting him in his old age, then he fled. It wasn't about Pogo, not really, their relationship was pleasant if distant. It was about being home. The way the sea salt water smelled different on the West Coast than the East. It was about the way it felt crossing the draw bridge. It was about not being ready to enter the great hall and look into the face of a mother who hadn't aged a day since he was a child.

He didn't know where he was going at first. Why he bothered to run at all. It made more sense to go seek out Ronan (if they'd arrived yet) and a bottle of finely aged Scotch. But his feet propelled him outwards, until he was stumbling over graveyard dirt. A sad smile crossed his face as he realized where he was, and he pulled his flask from his coat again to take another drink before he climbed onto the statue and pressed his forehead against the cold metal of Ben's, preserved forever at sixteen. He wondered, briefly, if it was creepy now that he was an adult. But really, he didn't care.

"You could probably use a drink today too, huh?" Vya muttered, and let a little whiskey dribble onto the gravestone he was standing on. Find peace in the light. What a bunch of bullshit. "Don't worry, I won't let him be buried anywhere near you."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marco Costa Character Portrait: Jaime Courtney Character Portrait: Caesar
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xxdialogue hex #351A13[/size]

Moments between missions were few and far between. Marco preferred to stay busy, idle hands and all that. He’d been pressed for something to break for too long now, obsessing over the sketches in his notebook endlessly compounding the details until it looked too real for comfort. Ceaser would probably work out to release the energy but Marco felt exercise was more of a chore – some mindless repetitive behavior that he had to do to maintain his agility rather than a release.

He rented an apartment above a soda pop shoppe, it always smelled like sweets – which only attracted the rats. He didn’t keep food around for long, usually opting for a Salisbury steak from the diner down the way instead. Every now and again he’d go to a cabinet, greeted by some fat fucker who had gorged himself on the stale box of crackers Marco had long forgotten about. Thankfully they stayed out of the bedroom, which is all he cared about. He let them live alongside him rent free so long as they respected the boundaries he’d put in place. They were around the place more than he ever was anyways.

The message came when he’d been showering, hearing the noise of the incoming capsule over the sound of water rushing in his ears. Always so fucking loud – it had undoubtedly saved his ass a couple times but still, could they not figure out a way that wasn’t so fucking loud? It had the Handler’s letterhead and her signature candor.

She was all hard angles. He’d fantasized what her skin would look like if he sliced into it slow, how the blood would look on her ever red lips. Not that he had anything personal against the Handler, just where his mind would go eventually if he spent enough time with a person. He donned his suit, shoving his sketchbook into his pocket and heading to the Handler’s office.

He let Jaime and Caeser take the lead in the office, he didn’t need to know anymore than whatever was in the folder. It was more fun if he was able to add an air of mystery, it’d been years since a real fight. He glanced at the photo, wilting with disappointment. They needed the three of them for this half-man? Marco could tell even in the photo, this man didn’t have the guts to stand up against the likes of one of them let alone three.

Marco looked to the other two, his eyes low with disinterest. Maybe between the three of them they could be back in time for dinner. Cracking his knuckles with anticipation, he nodded to the others gesturing for them to lead the way.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marco Costa Character Portrait: Jaime Courtney Character Portrait: Caesar
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β€’ ♦ β€’ ♦ β€’ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ β€’ ♦ β€’ ♦ β€’

Jaime didn't often find time to sleep in, so when the opportunity arose he decided that sleeping was all he would be doing for the entire day. He would have gone to the bar of course, had he any reason to be there. But currently, his reason had left on a trip. He distracted himself by replying to the latest string of texts from said reason with a variety of emojis to express his undying gratitude for the sender. But not going to the bar meant Jaime was stuck floundering for something to do in his shitty studio apartment until the next mission came to him. He didn't have the mental energy to ponder on the fact that he had no hobbies outside of work and pestering a certain adorable bartender.

Unfortunately, he didn't really get the opportunity to stay in bed like he wanted. When he hears the telltale sound of that capsule coming in he feels that distinct sense of β€˜here we go again.’ That seems to have taken over his life lately. The only way to get rid of that feeling has usually been to visit his favorite bartender bar and loiter till he starts to forget just how abnormal his life really is. It's easy to forget yourself when you've already gotten three or four shots in with no end in sight.

It’s not that Jaime doesn’t want to work. He likes his job - somewhat...sometimes. Okay, not really but who could blame him? It feels like he’s been doing the same old shtick since he was born. So yeah, he isn't thrilled to be dragging himself out of bed. Less thrilled even to realize that he's going to have to live through whatever condescending spiel The Handler has for him today.

Time travelling assassin shit aside, he needs a vacation.

But of course, that was asking a lot from his employers. He'd directly asked The Handler once, in a hungover stupor, and she had given him that patent half smirk and condescending laugh. Then she'd given him a brand new file and barked orders about not half-assing this one. So really, what little time he could slip in between missions was just about all the vacation he had been able to manage.

He took his time because quite frankly he had all the time in the world, and it wasn't like this job was going anywhere anytime soon. He would rather get chewed out for being a 'lazy good for nothing' than show up looking like something the cat dragged in. Eventually though he knew he'd have to stop puttering around and get his ass in gear. He wanted to get whatever this latest job was done and over with so he could return to his self-imposed moping.

"Well, this should be easy." Jaime commented, after The Handler was through telling them what they needed to know. He was sure he wasn't the only one thinking as much either.

Jaime had been on dozens of missions in his time, solo and paired, but to have three of them going after a guy like Herb was almost laughable. But there had to be a reason, otherwise The Handler wouldn't be pooling as many resources into the job. At least with Caesar and Marco there Jaime could take it easy, he had absolutely no qualms in admitting they were the powerhouses of the operation and he was likely just there to be there.

What kind of plan could a dude like that really have?

β€’ ♦ β€’ ♦ β€’ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ β€’ ♦ β€’ ♦ β€’